


The Prince and the Viscount

by celli, rajkumari905



Category: American Idol RPF, Princess Diaries (2001 2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Chromatic Character, Community: disneycookleta, M/M, secret royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rajkumari905/pseuds/rajkumari905
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which David Cook is not a pretty pretty princess, and David Archuleta is not totally in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince and the Viscount

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 disneycookleta challenge. Based on both Princess Diaries movies. Thanks to jehane_writes for the beta, and Kristie and Kayla for the patience!

"For the last time, Neal, this is not a joke."

Neal gave him a very unimpressed look.

"Okay, let me get this straight. Your uncle— "

"Simon."

"—who you didn't even know existed until two weeks ago—

"Yeah."

"—is the king of a tiny European country—"

"Genovia."

"—and since your dad, who you've also never met, was king before he died, you're the only heir to the throne, and now you have to move there so you can learn to be a prince?"

"Exactly," Cook said.

"The joke's gotten a little old, Dave. You're holding up practice."

Before Cook could throw his guitar at Neal's head, Andy spoke up.

"Neal, I think he's telling the truth."

"Why the fuck are you humoring him, Andy?"

In all likelihood, the conversation would have continued all day as it had for the past hour—Neal was nothing if not stubborn—had Uncle Simon not stormed into the unfinished basement where the band practiced, his scowl as pronounced as ever. He was staying at the Genovian Embassy, but he still managed to walk around the house Cook shared with Andy and Neal like he owned it.

"David, you were supposed to be in the living room for tea fifteen minutes ago." His accent always became more pronounced when he was actually annoyed, as opposed to when he was merely generally grumpy. "What have I told you about punctuality?"

"A prince must always be prompt," Cook recited, without the eyeroll that had accompanied the phrase the last time he'd had to repeat it. The fleeting satisfaction of the small rebellion wasn't worth the ten-minute lecture it induced.

"I've already allotted you two hours a day for your music; the rest of your time must be devoted to lessons. It is your duty to Genovia."

He turned to leave before David had a chance to say anything. "I shall expect you upstairs in five minutes."

"No fucking way," Neal said as soon as Simon had left. Andy and Neal stared at Cook, and then turned to look at each other, before simultaneously cracking up.

Cook made a frustrated noise and stomped off before he could incur another lecture.

 

***

 

Simon left about an hour later, though not without commenting on the untidiness of the house. Three bachelors lived there, Cook thought grumpily, what did he expect? On the plus side, the lesson on the history of the Genovian Parliament had taken enough time that Neal and Andy had finally come to the point where they could look at Cook without snickering.

"Dude, he’s getting into a limo," Andy said, sounding awed. He was standing by the window, peeking through the blinds after Simon.

"Of course," Cook said wearily. "Nothing but the best for His Majesty."

He glared at the tea things all over the coffee table. Simon would have expected him to clean up immediately, but he wasn’t in the mood.

"You could say no, you know," Neal pointed out, sprawled out on the couch. Cook eyed him enviously. Every time he slumped lately, he heard Simon’s voice in his head, snapping at him to sit up straight. "They can't force you to take the throne."

"I know," Cook said. "And I was going to. But—"

He paused for a moment, trying to put his feelings into words.

"I’ve spent my whole life wondering about my dad: who he was, why he left, what he was like. And for the first time, I have a connection to him. It feels like there’s a whole half of me that I’m just learning about for the first time, and I can’t just throw that away."

"Okay, princess, fair enough," Neal said.

Cook shoved him half-heartedly. He was starting to realize that that nickname was _never_ going away.

"If you're serious about this," Neal continued, "We're with you all the way."

 

***

 

At Simon’s (Uncle Simon) (King Simon) (Oh, God) insistence, the plane bringing Cook (Crown Prince David) (Future King David) (Oh, _God_ ) to Genovia was pretty much the stealth equivalent of a Lear Jet. It landed on a small airstrip a few miles from the capital, and only a butler or assistant or something named Nigel met them there. He looked askance when the rest of the Anthemic followed Cook off the plane, but that was nothing compared to Uncle King Simon’s expression when he met them coming up the back entrance to the palace.

“I wasn’t aware you’d be bringing your…friends with you,” he said, sounding as though “friends” was the Genovian equivalent of “wine-soaked bums” or something.

Not that they didn’t like their alcohol, but still. “Royalty gets an entourage, right?” Cook asked cheerfully, ignoring Uncle King Simon’s crossed arms and pinched face.

“We can entourage the hell out of Cook,” Kyle said. Monty reached out and slapped him on the back of the head.

“The proper form of address is ‘His Highness,’ or if you insist on informality, ‘Prince David,’” Nigel intoned behind them.

“Call me anything but Cook and I’ll have you put in the stocks or something,” Cook said through a painfully stiff smile.

“You don’t have time to be gallivanting about playing at music,” Uncle King Simon said, and Cook’s ears started ringing with anger so hard he almost didn’t catch the rest of the sentence, “not while someone’s trying to take your place before you’re even confirmed by Parliament.”

“Wait, what? I thought the whole point of you putting up with me in the first place was that there _wasn’t_ anyone to take my place. Why did you drag me here when there was—"

“I didn’t say it was someone suitable.”

Cook tried to imagine someone less “suitable” than him, and failed. “Seriously, what?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Uncle King Simon said. “Your welcome ball is in less than four hours. You need to get ready.” He eyed the members of the Anthemic. “Your…entourage…is welcome to stay in their quarters and rest for the evening.”

“Hell to the no,” Neal said.

It was a toss-up whether Nigel or Simon looked more upper-class-ly horrified.

“You planned something for the day we landed after a transatlantic flight?” Cook asked wearily.

“Royalty must be ready for any occasion at any time.”

“…right.” Cook sighed. “Bring it on, Uncle King Simon.”

Now Simon _definitely_ looked more horrified.

 

***

 

Uncle King Simon had only managed to give Cook very basic dance lessons before returning to Genovia, so Cook was incredibly relieved to step off of the dance floor as soon as was polite. It would have been better etiquette to continue dancing with more ladies (and lords!) and other such important people, but Cook figured that even Simon would prefer that he bow out as opposed to stepping on any more feet. (To be fair, he'd only stepped on two feet, and his dancing had gone relatively smoothly other than that.)

The other members of the Anthemic were scattered around the room. Neal was by the cocktail bar, big surprise, and Monty was seated near him. Kyle was showing off his American accent to various Genovian women gathered in a circle around him. Andy was the only band member still on the dance floor; _apparently_ , he was some sort of natural at ballroom dancing, and he'd had a partner for every dance thus far.

Cook would have gone to join Neal and Monty, but Uncle King Simon was also close by, glancing at them disapprovingly. Cook really did not want to deal with him at the moment, because he was quite sure that he'd immediately be scolded. He'd taken his crown off long ago (attempting to dance without dropping it was an exercise in failure), and his hair, which had taken so long to meticulously style, had gotten messed up when he'd absent-mindedly run a hand through it soon after.

Postponing Simon's lecture, he headed in the opposite direction, looking for a quiet corner to sit down.

There was a crowd pretty much everywhere, but Cook finally found a secluded table that only had one young man sitting at it. He was tracing a knot on the surface of the table with one finger, and when Cook seated himself a couple chairs away, he looked up with a smile.

He had a nice smile—that was the first thing Cook noticed—and Cook smiled back reflexively.

"Good evening," the young man said.

"Hey, how's it going?" Cook responded, and watched as the young man straightened slightly upon hearing his accent.

"Oh, you're—" he started, but Cook had had enough royal bullshit for one day and raised a hand.

"Please, just call me Cook. That's what my friends call me." He didn’t really want to get into how it had been his last name his whole life, until Uncle King Simon had popped up with news about his absent father’s death and his real last name and all that.

The young man looked a little taken aback, but he nodded after a moment. "Okay. Cook. I'm David Archuleta, but everyone calls me Archie."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Cook said automatically. Apparently the drills with Simon had been good for something, even if the something was just making him sound stuffy in front of a cute guy.

Archie just smiled, though. "Likewise."

"So, why are you here on your own? Bored?" Cook asked.

"Of course not!" Archie said quickly. "The ball is lovely. I'm just tired, and that makes me even worse at, um. Talking to people."

Cook laughed. "I think you're doing just fine. I know what you mean, though. It's really exhausting trying to keep up with everyone I've been introduced to, and to make small talk with all of them."

"Oh yes!" Archie said. "It must be much worse when you're meeting everyone for the first time."

Cook nodded, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, Archie said, "So how are you liking Genovia?"

"You mean since I landed here all of six hours ago?" Cook asked wryly. "It's beautiful. And most everyone has been very nice. I can't wait to get to know more of the people and to see more of the country."

"Wait, you just landed today?" Archie asked incredulously. "You must be exhausted!"

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat," Cook agreed, and yawned to prove his point. Archie followed suit, and they both laughed.

"Why are you so tired?" Cook asked. "It's not too late."

"I was up really late," Archie said.

Cook waited for Archie to continue, but when he didn't expand, Cook prompted, "How come?"

"Oh! I was meeting with His Majesty King Simon with my cousin. It, um, didn't go well."

Cook laughed. "I can imagine."

 

***

 

Half an hour later, they were in the midst of an in-depth conversation about their musical preferences. Cook excused himself to get a glass of water, and moments later, Uncle King Simon waylaid him.

"Where have you been, David? We're having this ball so you can be seen by the people of Genovia, not so you can slouch around hidden from view! Ask someone to dance!"

As usual, he stomped off before Cook could respond without creating a scene. Sighing, he reluctantly went off to make his excuses to Archie.

As he stepped up to the table, Cook opened his mouth to complain about his uncle, but Archie looked up and grinned brightly at him, and instead, he said, "Would you like to dance with me?"

Archie looked surprised, but a moment later, his grin was back full force. "I'd love to."

Cook led the way to the dance floor with Archie on his arm. When they got there, he belatedly said, "I'm pretty bad at this, by the way."

Archie giggled. "Me too."

It took them several awkward moments to get into the proper rhythm, but then their movements synced. "So," Archie said after a minute. "What were you saying about Our Lady Peace?"

 

***

 

Too soon, Cook noticed someone approaching with _that_ look. _No_ , he thought fiercely at them, _don't you dare_ —

"May I cut in?"

Apparently his thought waves were ineffective at deterring eligible young noblewomen. Archie was much more gracious than Cook felt, and stepped aside immediately. "Of course!"

He bowed to Cook and then to the woman waiting, and stepped aside with a little shrug and smile for Cook.

Cook was disappointed, but he pasted on a smile and turned his attention to the woman in front of him. His distraction seemed to make his dancing even worse, but he nevertheless found himself occupied for the next several dances.

By the time he had a moment to himself, Archie was nowhere to be found.

 

***

 

"I think there's no chance that Parliament will—Archie? Archie, are you listening?"

Lord David Archuleta, Viscount Murray, jerked his head away from the window he'd been staring out of and focused on his cousin Ryan. "Of course I'm listening. What else would I be doing?"

"Staring out the window and humming a waltz?" Ryan Seacrest smiled across the breakfast nook at Archie. The morning sun made the antique table between them look nearly as shabby as it was, but Archie found it familiar and kind of comforting. Ryan could have done a lot of things with his money and his life if he hadn't dropped everything to raise his orphaned cousin, but instead he'd made his life all about making Archie's better, in sometimes dramatic ways. "What was I saying, Arch?"

"You don't think Parliament will block your petition," Archie said by rote. "I'm born and raised in Genovia; I know the people, I know the government, and I'm not going to abandon my country for the next 'gig' that comes along." He looked away, hoping that hadn't come out enviously. But Ryan didn't say anything. He started flipping through his notes again, mumbling parts of his speech to himself. Archie tried to make himself eat something, even though everything tasted like sawdust right now, and once Ryan's attention was elsewhere, allowed himself to think about the ball again.

He'd never liked balls; he only went when Ryan wanted him to be visible for whatever political reason he'd decided was important that week. Even being asked to dance by boys as well as girls didn't make them better; if anything, it was even more nerve-wracking. But that American last night, Cook, he'd made Archie forget about politics and society and what Ryan wanted him to do.

Archie even had a small faint hope that Cook wouldn't hate him after Archie tried to take the crown away from his friend the prince today. Ryan hadn't wanted Archie to meet Prince David Cowell last night, so he'd only seen the rest of the Americans from a distance. He was pretty sure he'd picked the prince out from the crowd, a man with shaggy dark hair and a crowd of women around him. Maybe he would rather have music and ladies and everything. Maybe he'd be grateful Ryan was trying to have Parliament vote him out as future King. And maybe he and his friends would stick around in Genovia for a little bit and Archie would get to see Cook again.

Ryan had research on the prince that Archie wasn't allowed to look at in case it made him even more nervous in front of Parliament today. (One of these days Ryan's need to control everything about everything was going to get him in trouble. Not that Archie would tell him that. It would definitely hurt his feelings.) There was probably some information about Cook in there. Maybe after the session today Archie could sneak a look at it. The thought brightened his mood unexpectedly, and he was able to plow through the rest of his breakfast with no problem, humming the tune from last night in between bites while Ryan practiced his opening line across from him.

 

***

 

"Whoa," Andy said, grabbing everyone's attention just as Cook tried to sneak into the parlor the Anthemic had taken over as their own. He sighed and straightened up. "Look at this dude on his way to rule a kingdom!"

"There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don't know where to start," Cook said, throwing himself down into a chair. "Thing one: Uncle King Simon will probably still be king when my grandkids go into their nursing homes. Thing two: Parliament rules." He thought of Uncle King Simon. "Kinda."

Monty looked up from the magazine in his lap. "Thing three, you just messed up the suit Nigel probably spent all night ironing, and your crown is crooked again."

"Dammit!" Cook jumped up and started tugging at things. "I am never going to get the hang of this."

"Not if you don't try," Uncle King Simon said acerbically from behind him, and Cook wondered whether strangling himself with his own crown was an option. "Gentlemen, it's time to leave."

"Oh, goody, Parliament," Cook heard Kyle say behind him, then, "Ow! Stop _hitting_ me, Monty."

 

***

 

Genovia's Parliament met in a building that had been an antique when the _Mayflower_ was being built. Cook had some kind of impression of dark wood and marble and a lot of people staring at him—the members of Parliament, the press, and a bunch of people dressed up like they were going to the races, some of whom he’d met at the ball the night before. It was all pretty much a blur until he saw Archie sitting in a seat towards the front of the dressed-up-people section, looking pale and nervous. Cook started to wave to get his attention, but Uncle King Simon grabbed his wrist and forced it back down. Hard.

“Ow!” Cook said, not all that quietly, and Archie looked up. For a second, his face lit up, and Cook found himself grinning stupidly back, and then Archie looked between Cook and Uncle King Simon and froze. Uh-oh. Cook remembered Archie mentioning a conversation with Uncle Simon that hadn’t gone well. Maybe, after seeing them together, Archie wasn’t that keen on the royal family anymore. Which, understandable, but it didn’t help the happy fantasy Cook had been working on about meeting Archie again, and talking about music more with him, and—

“His Royal Majesty, Simon of Genovia!”

Cook jumped to his feet and sat back down when everyone around him did, and tried not to look at Archie as Uncle King Simon gave the formal speech choosing Cook, er, “His Royal Highness David Roland Cook Cowell,” as his heir. He did pay attention long enough to notice the few flattering things about him in the speech. That didn’t seem like His Majesty. He ended it by formally calling for objections, and Cook was starting to let his attention drift back to Archie when someone called, "I have an objection, Your Majesty," and every head in the room swiveled to the center of the room.

"Mister Seacrest," Uncle King Simon said in a biting tone Cook had only heard used on himself before. "What nonsense do you bring before the people of Genovia today?"

Mr. Seacrest, whoever he was, had a pinched look on his face that Cook understood well. He took a deep breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth, Cook mentally coached him. "As Prime Minister, one might argue that I know more about what the people of Genovia want than you do."

"One might," the king said in a tone that suggested the opposite. "And what have the people of Genovia asked you to convey for them, sir?"

"They deserve their royalty to be Genovian," Seacrest said bluntly.

The audience gasped. Uncle King Simon glared them down. "Does the Prime Minister question my heir's legitimacy?" he asked in a voice that could have frozen lava.

"He may be as legitimate as the day is long, but he's also born and raised American. Would you put Bruce Springsteen on the throne? Billy Joel?"

"Is that a compliment?" Neal leaned forward to ask Cook.

"Shut it," Cook said, trying not to show a visible reaction.

"Does Mr. Springsteen have a claim to the throne of Genovia of which I was unaware?" Really, it was amazing the Prime Minister wasn't dead from Uncle King Simon's sheer force of will.

"No, but Viscount Murray does."

This time, the reaction from the audience continued regardless of Uncle King Simon's quelling looks. Prime Minister Seacrest gestured to the seats near Cook, and Archie stood up.

Wait, what?

"Lord David James Archuleta, Viscount Murray," Seacrest's voice rang oddly in Cook's ears, "has a claim to the throne nearly as solid as Your Majesty's own. And more importantly, Lord Archuleta is Genovian. He lives here, he knows the land and the people and the laws. I ask you,” Seacrest said, raising his voice to fill the room, “who is better suited to take the throne, someone who lives and breathes this country or someone who’s barely heard of it and would probably rather go back to his career in America anyway?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Cook called out, standing. He could see Uncle Simon turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, probably to tell him to sit down and shut up, but mostly Cook could see Archie standing there, his shoulders hunched slightly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Why doesn’t someone just ask me if I want to stay instead of pretending they can read my mind and they know whether I do or don’t?”

The crowd seemed to be shocked silent, which was something Cook preferred to do with his music instead of his speeches. He cleared his throat and looked over at Prime Minister Seacrest, who was staring at him with an odd look on his face. “Well,” Seacrest said after a second. “Do you want to stay?”

Cook looked over at Uncle Simon, then back down to Archie. He opened and closed his mouth on “yes,” and on “no.” “I...don’t know,” he said finally. “Look, a week ago I had a deadbeat dad and a music career. Now I have a secret royal obligation and a country I don’t know. You know what I want? I want time. So Genovia and I can figure out if we’re any good for each other.”

“Dude,” Neal said from behind him, “did you just ask to go steady with a country?”

 

***

 

The moment the king called the Parliamentary session to a close, everyone began talking at once. Cook was swarmed instantly by people seeking to make his acquaintance or inquire after his journey from America or wish him well. Mindful of his etiquette lessons, Cook was unfailingly polite, though he kept one eye fixed on the other swarm of people, which was no doubt surrounding the prime minister and Archie.

As his thoughts turned to Archie, there was a weird clenching in his gut that felt sort of like anger, which was, in any case, better than the alternative.

After a while, Archie ducked out of the crowd, smiling awkwardly, and headed for the back door. Cook appreciated his reasoning; there would be far fewer people near the back hallway. And anyway, it would make it much easier for Cook to talk to him as well. He wasn't positive what he wanted to say yet, but he had to say _something_.

Uncle King Simon was starting to approach, no doubt to scold Cook for speaking out of turn or something; that was Cook's cue to leave. He made his excuses as quickly and politely as he could, and slipped out of the back door in turn.

Archie straightened hastily from where he'd clearly been slumped against the wall, and he bit his lip when he identified Cook.

Making eye contact with Archie for the first time since he'd found out who he was, Cook felt a surge of—something. There was a lot there that he didn't know how to deal with, couldn't even identify, really. But it was easy to roll with the indignation, and he did so.

Archie's smile was tense and polite, and totally different from the wide, open smile he'd worn last night. Cook didn't return it.

"Thanks for telling me you were trying to take my throne last night," he said bluntly, coming to lean against the wall beside Archie with feigned casualness.

Archie flinched just slightly, but then straightened. "Well—well maybe I would have, if you'd thought to mention that you were the _prince_."

"If I were trying to claim someone else's throne, I'd make a point to figure out who they were," Cook countered, and then couldn't stop himself from adding, slightly bitterly, "And I'd also wait to get to know them before I decided they were unfit to rule."

"This has nothing to do with you," Archie said primly. "This is about the best interests of the people of Genovia."

"Excuse me?" Cook said incredulously. "Nothing to do with me? This has everything to do with me, and don't pretend that it doesn't. You're assuming I'm going to be a bad king for no reason."

"Not for no reason! Because you don't know anything about Genovia. You said yourself that you wanted time to figure out whether you and Genovia fit. And that's great, but _some_ people already know that they'd be good for Genovia."

They were standing close now, mirroring each other in their scowls and crossed arms. Cook forced himself to take a deep breath before he did something rash. "You are so infuriating," he said. "I can't believe I wanted—"

Fortunately, the doors opened before he could finish his sentence. Cook belatedly realized that the way he and Archie had jumped apart could have been misleading, and Prime Minister Seacrest clearly thought so too, if his frown was anything to go by.

He just nodded at Cook, though, saying, "Your Highness," and gestured at Archie to join him.

They rounded the corner, but Cook could still clearly hear when Seacrest said to Archie, "What were you doing with him?"

"We were just talking, Ryan," Archie said, his voice growing fainter.

Cook took a couple steps closer to the corner and strained to hear. "You need to be careful around him, Archie. If you get too friendly, it could ruin your image, so don't..."

And then they were out of earshot, and Cook was left standing alone in the hallway, frustrated. He wasn't sure how he'd expected the conversation with Archie to go, but it definitely hadn’t been like that.

 

***

 

Cook threw himself onto the bed in his suite, burying his face in the pillows and resisting the urge to yell into them like a child.

When he'd approached Archie, he'd thought maybe they could... talk about it and somehow work things out. Maybe it had been naive, but he'd hoped they could have parted on better terms.

... In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have started the conversation the way he had.

He only had time to dwell for about ten minutes before he heard the door open, followed by a set of footsteps that couldn't belong to anyone but the band. He hurried to get up. He didn't want them to catch him moping.

He walked casually into the sitting room where the guys were, running a hand through his hair in frustration, and slumped into an armchair.

"What's your deal?" Neal asked.

So much for not catching him moping.

"Dude, someone's trying to steal his throne!" Andy told him, and then turned to Cook. "We can totally figure this out, Dave."

"Yeah, man," Kyle put in. "Who gives a damn about that viscount dude anyway?"

Cook smiled a little despite himself. His friends were _awesome_.

"It's not that," he told them. "I'm sure Simon's already worked out a strategy, and anyway, I'm not even sure I'd be a good king."

"Sure you would!" Andy said cheerfully at the same time as Neal said, "So... what's the problem then?"

Cook sighed, but he knew they'd get it out of him one way or another. "I tried to talk to Archie. It didn't go well."

"Who's Archie?" Kyle asked.

"Lord David Archuleta, Viscount Murray," Cook intoned with a grimace, and watched as understanding dawned on everyone's faces.

"Why would you talk to _him_ , he's the enemy!" Kyle asked.

"I don't know! I was just trying to—I don't even know."

"Well it doesn't matter if the conversation didn't go well, you don't need him to like you to beat him for the throne." Andy said, with a grin.

Cook frowned, not wanting to admit that he maybe sort of _did_ need Archie to like him?

"Hang on a second," Monty said slowly, his gaze shrewd. "I knew I recognized Archuleta from somewhere. You were dancing with him at the ball, weren't you?" Cook winced, and Monty grinned. "You're totally into him!"

There was a shocked silence, during which Cook couldn't muster the energy to protest. It wouldn't have been very convincing anyway.

"Holy shit," Andy said intelligently, and then joined the rest of the band in cracking up.

"Yeah, yeah," Cook grumbled. "Very funny."

"Seriously? You meet a million people at that ball, and the one you decide to fall for is the one who's also competing with you for the throne?" Neal rolled his eyes. "Typical."

"This is practically like Romeo and Juliet! Cook's in love with his enemy," Andy snickered.

Cook sighed. "Let's not get carried away."

"Who's going to be our lead singer when we play at your wedding?" Kyle asked, fighting a grin.

"Unfortunately, Archie hates me now, so I don't think you have anything to worry about," Cook said testily, and the band finally calmed down a bit.

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you thought it was," Andy said encouragingly.

Cook reluctantly summarized their conversation, and everyone was quiet a moment.

"I just—we had a really great conversation at the ball, and he loves music, and is cute and hilarious, and now—"

"Look," Monty said bracingly. "You just have to start small. Be friendly and get back on his good side. He obviously liked you at the ball, so as long as you're not an asshole, you should be fine."

"Yeah, I guess—" Cook started to say, but fell silent when Simon stormed into the room, looking mutinous.

"The Parliament will not block Prime Minister Seacrest's ridiculous claim, so we shall have to come up with a strategy to ensure that the members vote for you.”

"We were thinking that Dave should seduce Lord Archuleta," Kyle said with a grin.

" _Kyle_ ," Cook snapped, at the same time as Monty reached out and whacked him in the back of the head. Andy and Neal tried to look appropriately serious, but couldn't quite stifle their snickers.

Uncle Simon just stood there and glared at them all, before turning to Cook. "Perhaps we should have this conversation elsewhere."

"Of course," Cook said tiredly, scowling in the Anthemic's general direction as he followed Simon out into the hall.

There was a stony silence as they walked through the palace. Cook was soon lost among the twists and turns. He hadn't yet had much time to explore the palace beyond the band's rooms and the kitchens.

"There will be no seduction," Simon said as soon as they were shut in his study.

Cook decided against walking out then and there, but it was a near thing. "Kyle was just joking," he said instead, voice strained but polite.

Simon just sniffed. "Indeed."

"So what did you have in mind?" Cook asked. The sooner the subject was changed, the better.

"You'll have to prove that you are just as Genovian as Lord Archuleta."

Cook nodded. It made sense, but it seemed like one of those 'easier said than done' things. "How?"

"You'll need to interact with the people as much as possible," Uncle Simon said musingly. "I suppose we don't have enough time for you to travel through all the provinces, especially not with your lessons. I certainly don't have time to accompany you, though perhaps Nigel—"

"Absolutely not," Cook interrupted. The idea of spending a few weeks with only Nigel for company was worse than having Uncle King Simon, and that was saying something.

Uncle Simon gave him a look, but after a moment, he sighed. "Perhaps not. In any case, you will join me when I hold open court from now on. You will also continue to read about Genovia's history and culture."

Cook cringed at the idea of reading _more_ history texts. "Anything else?"

"You will ride in the annual parade—"

"What, like, on a horse?" Cook blurted, horrified.

Simon leveled him with his patented _my heir is an imbecile_ look. "Yes, David."

"I can't ride a horse!"

"You will learn," Simon said smoothly, and continued before Cook could continue to voice his protests. "You will also shoot the ceremonial arrow to begin the Peach Festival."

Cook didn’t even bother pointing out that he had no idea how to shoot an arrow. At least that sounded easier than riding a horse.

"Tomorrow, there will be a garden party with many of the nobility and parliament. You must present yourself well to them, understood?"

Cook nodded.

"That will be all, then."

Cook stood to leave, and then paused at the door, looking back.

"Yes?" Uncle Simon said without looking up.

"I don't know how to get back," Cook admitted.

Simon frowned. "Really, David, you must learn your way around the palace."

"I've barely been here two days," Cook pointed out. "Two _very_ busy days, I might add."

"Come along then," Simon said, and marched out of the door, leaving Cook to follow hastily.

As they opened the door, Andy was saying, "Look, I heard that Archuleta dude talking to someone, he could barely string two sentences together. He's practically incoherent, he's no threat. Dave's got plenty of charisma; Lord Archuleta is just awkward."

"Yes, it appears we do have the advantage there, at least," Simon said.

The Anthemic jumped, and all of them gaped at Simon as he turned to leave.

"Was that a compliment?" Neal finally asked, sounding amazed.

"Huh," Cook said, and then, "I'm starving, how about a kitchen run?"

 

***

 

The Parliamentary session had, for obvious reasons, run long, and Archie was _trying_ to wait patiently for Ryan to finish talking to someone or the other, but really, it had been _ages_. Archie had thought that when they'd left the room, that had been that, but apparently Ryan needed to talk to a lot of people afterwards as well, which really just gave Archie a lot of time to dwell on his conversation with Cook.

Stupid Cook.

The worst part was, it wasn't really Cook's fault. That he was upset was understandable. Archie had even anticipated it before he'd known that it was _Cook_ , not one of his friends, that was the prince. But that hadn't stopped him from _hoping_.

Archie slumped into his chair.

Then he heard voices approaching and straightened. Was it Ryan? But no, it was an American accent—Cook!

Maybe—maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe if he just _happened_ to run into Cook and his band, and he didn't get all defensive this time, they could still be on good terms. Friends, if nothing else.

Archie looked around once, but Ryan was nowhere to be found, so he set off after them.

He followed the voices until he arrived at—big surprise—the kitchens. The band was making quite a racket in there, drawers opening and dishes rattling and pots clanging. Archie couldn't help but wonder if any of them actually knew how to cook. Maybe he could go in and save the day by making them omelets or something?

He put his hand on the doorknob and froze as he heard his own name.

"—about the Lord Archuleta situation?"

Another band member responded, "We already established this, Neal. Dave's just gonna turn on the charm and seduce him! Bam. Problem solved."

Archie sucked in a breath as everyone in the room laughed.

"Shut up, everyone," someone else said. "Look, Dave, you just have to start small. Be friendly and get back on his good side. He obviously liked you at the ball, so as long as you're not an asshole, it'll be easy."

"Yeah, I guess—" and that voice, that was definitely Cook's. Archie bit his lip hard and backed away from the door. He didn't want to hear anymore.

As he hurried back to wait for Ryan, Archie took deep, steadying breaths. He was _so stupid_. If there was anything he'd learned from watching Ryan work, it was that politicians were all manipulative _jerks_. Archie had really thought that Cook was an exception; he certainly hadn’t imagined that Cook was capable of such underhanded tactics.

Well, obviously, he’d been wrong, and the worst part of it was that Archie had fallen for it, would have _kept_ falling for it if he hadn't just overheard that conversation. Cook had clearly known who Archie was all along, and yet here he was, making Archie feel guilty for challenging him for the throne.

Archie threw himself into his seat and fought to focus on the anger rather than the hurt.

Someone like Cook didn't even _deserve_ the throne. He probably just wanted it for wealth and power. He didn't love the people of Genovia, not like Archie did. And Archie would see to it that Cook didn't get a chance to ruin his country.

 

***

 

The garden party wasn't until noon, so Cook had been hoping to have a little bit of a lie-in. Naturally, that was not an option, and he was woken promptly at seven for breakfast, lessons, a lecture or two from Uncle King Simon, and what Neal insisted on calling "Princely Primping."

By the time he got outside, there were already a fair number of people milling around, though Archie was nowhere to be seen. Before he could look more carefully, Uncle Simon signaled that he should start socializing, so with a sigh, he approached a few people he recognized from the ball.

It wasn't until half an hour later, when he was making small-talk with one of the Members of Parliament and surreptitiously trying to adjust his crown before he dropped it, that he finally spotted Archie. He was standing not far off, watching Cook with a little frown on his face. His eyes widened a little when Cook caught him, and he quickly stepped toward someone else and started talking to them, pointedly ignoring Cook.

Hurriedly, Cook made his excuses and set off to talk to him, but when Archie saw him coming, he went the opposite direction. For the next hour, between chatting about the horse races and discussing Genovia's relationship with France, Cook chased Archie around the party. Archie was maddeningly good at avoiding him—the gardens weren't _that_ big.

Finally, Cook caught up to him and laid a hand on his arm. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Archie pulled away from Cook, "Because I don't want to talk to you."

Cook blinked, slightly taken aback. "I—listen, just give me a few minutes, okay?"

Archie didn't say anything, but he didn't walk away either, just looked at him silently.

"Look, we parted on bad terms yesterday, and that's mostly my fault, and I'm sorry. I really enjoyed your company at the ball, and, well. There's no reason we can't be on good terms, right? We're competing, but we can still be..." Archie's impassive expression didn't so much as flicker, and it was throwing Cook off. Friends? No. More than friends? Definitely not. Finally, he settled lamely on, "Amicable."

Archie was quiet a moment, and then his face filled with resolve. "Of course, Your Highness," he said politely, and bowed. "Whatever you prefer."

"Archie—"

"I’d prefer ‘Lord Archuleta’, if you don’t mind. Now if you'll excuse me, I haven't had a chance to greet Lady Carly."

Cook watched helplessly as Archie walked away. He wasn't sure that that could have gone worse if he'd _tried_ to sabotage himself.

He needed a drink.

 

***

 

Sitting in on Uncle King Simon's audience with the people sounded kind of interesting. And then Cook got there and realized that the audience had an audience—the band, who should have the manners not to heckle, but didn't, and some of Parliament, including the Prime Minister who had started all this craziness. And Archie—Lord Archuleta—was sitting next to his uncle, so even if Cook wanted to talk to him, which was the last thing he wanted, he couldn't. Cook glared at both of them until Uncle Simon caught him at it and glared at _him_. Cook pasted a fake smile on and tried to pay attention to the people.

They were really interesting, and listening to them gave Cook a better idea about the problems facing Genovia than all the books and paperwork they'd made him read in the last few weeks. The peach growers were worried about climate change; the kids were worried about college, and having to leave Genovia to find work; and the rich people wanted to talk about relaxing Genovia’s banking regulations a lot, which appeared to irritate Uncle Simon as much as Cook. And everyone brought something "for your table." A basket of pears, bottles of wine, a watermelon. Cook didn't even think they grew watermelons in Genovia. Uncle Simon handled it all with respect for every petitioner and a display of compassion that surprised Cook. It made him just a little less wary of his gruff and proper uncle.

The end of the line was in sight, and Cook was starting to get a backache from standing on marble for hours, when the "for your table" basket got passed to him. "What's this?" he asked, lifting the brown fabric away—and then there was a flurry of feathers in his face and a loud squawking that hopefully drowned out his surprised obscenity.

The chicken, or rooster, or pheasant, who knew, clawed its way out of his arms and dove under the audience bench. It was like watching a high-society wave as one by one they yelped and jumped out of their chairs. Prime Minister Seacrest turned the air particularly blue, but Lord Archuleta just reached down, got a firm grip, and pulled the bird out from between his legs.

There were servants fluttering around everywhere, not unlike the bird, but Archie (you couldn’t think of anyone as Lord Anything if he was carrying poultry) tucked it expertly under his arm and brought it forward. "Your chicken, sir," he said, handing it to Cook, who grabbed it only long enough to hand it right to Nigel. Nigel gave him his patented look of contempt and disappeared with it.

"Um, thanks," Cook said, trying not to laugh. For a second, it looked like Archie might laugh too, or at least smile like he had that first night, but his expression went carefully blank.

"Your Highness," he said, and bowed at the waist.

The Anthemic watched him walk past them and then turned to Cook with identical accusing looks. Cook narrowed his eyes at them. Whose side were they on, anyway?

 

***

 

The archery lessons were going to kill him. Cook let another arrow fly, then winced as Nigel ducked to the ground. Again.

"A guitar has strings, and I can do anything I want with it. Why can't—" He accidentally let go in the middle of all his grumbling, and the arrow went up in the air and due west, planting itself solidly in a tree about three feet from where Archie happened to be standing.

"Oh, my God. I am so sorry!" he yelled.

"I don't think killing me will convince Parliament you should be king," Archie said.

"Very funny." Cook looked down at his bow. He tried a practice pull with no arrow, and managed to snap it against his arm just above the guard. "Ow. Damn."

"Let me see that." Cook looked up, surprised, to find Archie right in front of him. He handed over the bow silently. Archie checked a couple of things Cook didn't understand, then looked at his arm. "Why are you drawing right-handed?"

"Because...they told me to?"

"But you're left-handed, aren't you?"

"You noticed," Cook said. God, could he have one conversation with this guy and not sound like a moron?

Archie looked really uncomfortable too. "I guess. Look, try switching." He waited for Cook to fumble the guard off one arm and onto the other and handed the bow back. Cook loaded an arrow—nocked, damn it—and aimed.

"Touch your mouth," Archie said, and Cook's brain went someplace completely inappropriate.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, uh." Archie held his arms up, mirroring Cook's. "Bring your left hand up to your mouth. Use it as a guide for the arrow."

"Right," Cook said. "Okay." He copied Archie, but kept his eyes on him instead of the target. Which was probably not a great idea, but watching the target hadn't helped him much anyway.

Archie's hand kind of fluttered in the air, then he laid it carefully on Cook's elbow. "Bring this down a little," he said. "Okay. Try now."

Cook made himself look back at the target, took an extra couple of deep breaths, and released the arrow.

Everyone ducked, but it hit the target.

"Huh," Cook said. "Thank you."

Archie smiled at him, and then stopped again.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Cook said without thinking.

"Do what?" Archie said stiffly.

"Remember you hate me."

"Well, I wish you wouldn't pretend like you like me," Archie snapped.

"I do—I do too like you!" Cook called as Archie hurried away. Then he stalked off to the palace to complain about the whole thing to the band. They would probably just make fun of him, but at least they were talking to him, unlike _some people_.

 

***

 

"He hates me," Cook said bitterly, slouching down into a chair. He was ruining a suit and he didn't even care.

"He doesn't hate you," Andy said.

"Just—maybe don't throw a chicken at him anymore?" Neal suggested.

"I hate _you_ ," Cook said.

 

***

 

"I hate him," Archie said into his soup.

Ryan looked over from his ever-present paperwork. "His Highness?"

"He's sneaky. And dishonest. And his beard is messy. And he can't hold a chicken."

"Certainly we should judge him on his chicken-holding abilities."

"Well, he can't," Archie said, and then shut up because he knew he sounded stupid.

There was a long pause, and then Ryan said, "I have to go to the palace tonight for some Cabinet briefings. Why don't you come along?"

"You want me to sit in on a Cabinet briefing?" Archie asked, horrified.

"Or you could find His Highness and, I don't know, talk things out with him."

"You told me not to talk to him."

"I told you not to be seen talking with him, not to start a feud they would be selling tabloids over. Obviously that was my mistake."

"Fine. But I still hate him."

Ryan's expression was completely unreadable. "Of course."

 

***

 

Archie didn't sneak into the family wing of the palace. Not exactly. But he did walk quickly and acted like he totally knew where he was going, until nobody was there and he could start poking at doors and looking around corners again.

Finally he heard guitar music, and the rest was easy. Down a hall and up a short flight of stairs, and there was a music room. He expected the whole band to be there (he hated how they smiled at him all the time, like there was a joke he didn't know, except he did, and he wasn't thinking about that right now) but it was just Cook—Prince David—teasing out notes from an acoustic guitar.

He must have made a noise, because the prince looked up at him. "Oh, hi."

"Your Highness," Archie said with a half-bow.

When he looked up, Prince David looked kind of sad. "Lord Archuleta," he said. "Can I help you with something?"

"I heard you playing," Archie said. "Simon and Garfunkel?"

"Good ear." The prince sounded surprised.

"I know music," Archie said. "I mean, more classical, but my piano teachers wanted me to be well-rounded. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not," the prince said, which didn't even make any sense. Then he nodded toward the piano. "Let's see."

"Is that a royal request?" Archie asked.

Prince David's eyes went a little sad again. "Please?"

Archie sat down and started playing without really thinking about it. A few bars in, he realized it was "And So It Goes," which was...just a good piano song. That was all.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and started singing the first verse. That got him a look of shock, and then Cook— _Prince David _—joined in on harmony.__

"You're great," he said when the last notes had died. "What else do you know?"

"Um, Beatles?" Archie suggested.

"You're a classics man. I like it," which in no way made Archie blush.

Somewhere between the Beatles, John Mayer, and U2, one of them slipped up, and they were back to being Cook and Archie. Archie finished one song with an off chord (he'd been looking over at Cook instead of down at the keys again), caught Cook's eye, and they both started laughing.

Naturally, that's when Ryan showed up.

"My lord?" he said to Archie in a tone that promised a full interrogation later.

"Um—we were just—I have to go," he said hastily to Cook. "Um, Your Highness."

"My lord," Cook said, and he hadn't been sad while they were playing, but he looked sad again now, and Archie didn't care, he really _didn't_.

He didn't run down the stairs out of the palace, but it was a close thing.

"It looked like you were having fun," Ryan said once they were safely in the car.

"He was just trying to, you know," you didn't say _seduce_ to your cousin, "make me like him."

"Did it work?" Ryan asked.

Archie folded his arms and didn't talk the whole way home.

 

***

 

Uncle King Simon tried really hard to get Cook onto a horse for the parade. That was, until Cook managed to demonstrate just how inadequate his horse-back riding skills were by startling his horse into a canter before he was ready and consequently almost falling off. The Anthemic was howling with laughter by the time two stable hands managed to calm the horse and get him down. Even Archie was smiling a little, because of course he was always watching when things like that happened. Of _course_.

"No horseback riding, then," was all Uncle Simon said, and he marched off to make sure the carriage was prepared.

The parade was actually really cool. He and Uncle Simon were in a carriage right at the beginning, following the Royal Guard. There were members of the Genovian National Ballet behind them. The rest of the Anthemic were in the parade too, further back, and a marching band from a high school was closing the parade. Prime Minister Seacrest and Archie were close behind the royal carriage, so that when Cook turned, grinning and waving, Archie smiled back momentarily before he remembered to stop.

The best part of the parade, though, was getting to see all of the people of Genovia dressed up in their finest, cheering and waving flags. It made a surge of patriotism rise up in Cook's chest, until he couldn't do anything but beam and take it all in. He thought his arm might fall off from all of the waving, but he couldn't bring himself to stop, even for a moment. Cook tried to make eye contact with as many people as possible, tried to make them see how _proud_ he was to be here with them on Genovian Independence Day.

Then they turned a corner, and Cook caught sight of a group of children sitting on the steps of a somewhat shabby building. They were watching the parade with wide eyes, wearing what were clearly their nicest clothes, even though they were faded and torn.

As Cook watched, one dark-skinned girl in blue bit her lip and waved at him, nothing more than a shy curl of her fingers.

"Stop the carriage," Cook said, and stood up.

"David—" Uncle Simon said, but Cook wasn't even listening.

As soon as the carriage slowed down enough, he vaulted over the edge, ignoring the confused murmur as everyone focused on him. He turned toward the building, zeroing in on the sign that read "Genovian Children's Home".

Some of the children looked a little frightened as he approached, so he smiled kindly at them and slowed his pace a little.

"Hello," he said gently, and knelt on the ground in front of the little girl he'd noticed earlier. Somewhere, Nigel was in front of a television gnashing his teeth, but Cook did not even begin to care about his pants. "What's your name?"

"Sophia," said the girl almost inaudibly.

"Hi, Sophia, my name is David."

"I know who you are," Sophia said, and gestured at his crown.

"Would you like to try it on?" Cook asked, and Sophia's eyes got huge.

"I—I can't, I'm not a princess," she said sadly after a moment.

"Sure you are," Cook said, and carefully placed his crown on her dark hair.

"Wow," the girls standing next to them said, and Cook turned to smile at them as well.

He looked back and found everyone staring at him, the parade at a standstill. Then he had an idea.

"Would all of you like to join me in the parade?"

All of the children shrieked and cheered and shouted, and Cook couldn't help but grin along with them. He gestured at a vendor nearby and bought all of the children flags to wave and hats to wear.

"Now, is everyone ready?"

The rag-tag bunch of children all nodded.

"What do we do?" One little boy asked, looking nervous.

"I'll tell you what my Uncle Simon told me," Cook said. "Stand up straight, and _believe_ that you're royalty."

He took Sophia's hand and led the way back to the parade route. "Don't forget to smile and wave!" he told the excited children gathered around him, and then gestured to the Royal Guard to begin moving again.

Sophia tugged on his sleeve. "Here's your crown," she said shyly.

Cook smiled down at her. "Why don't you wear it for a while longer?"

"Really?" she asked, sounding awed.

"Sure," Cook grinned. "You look beautiful."

With the Genovian national anthem playing full blast, they marched their way proudly through the capital.

 

***

 

Afterwards—after the children had been returned to the orphanage with Cook's solemn promise to visit soon, after he'd made it through the barrage of interviews and pats on the back, after Uncle Simon had given him a shade of a smile and nod—Cook just needed some space to think. He was buzzing with ideas, suddenly, and he just needed to sort through his own head.

He went to the music room, because he thought maybe there was a song in all this, if he could just find the words. And even if they weren't there yet, he could wait, and he could think.

He sat in the window seat and stared outside and imagined a world where he had the ability to actually change things for the better, thought about what he would do if he could do anything, remembered how it had felt to make Sophia smile like that.

He jumped when he heard someone clear their throat, and expecting to see one of the Anthemic or even Uncle Simon, turned to see Archie in the doorway.

"Hey," he said quietly, and turned back to the window.

After a moment, Archie came and sat down beside him.

"I was thinking," Cook said quietly, still staring down at the gardens. "Maybe we can convert the west wing of the palace into an orphanage. No one really lives there, and those children need someplace better. Or maybe we can build something new, a place with a garden."

"Cook," Archie said softly. That got Cook's attention. It was the first time Archie had called him anything other than 'Your Highness' since the ball. "That was amazing, what you did today. You and those children, it was like magic."

He paused, as if struggling for words. Then, he surprised Cook even more by reaching out and taking Cook's hand, giving it a little squeeze. "You really care, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Cook said, ready to be affronted that anyone could think that he didn't, except for how Archie was looking at him as if for the first time, or maybe the way he had that night at the ball, eyes bright and shiny and happy. Cook wrapped both of his hands around Archie's. "I do," he said again, quieter.

He leaned in, and Archie didn't back away. He didn’t even move when Cook brushed the tips of his fingers against his cheek. They were frozen for a moment, just looking at each other, barely a foot apart. Then Cook slipped a hand around the nape of Archie's neck, and moved even closer, watching as Archie's lips parted and his eyes flickered closed. His last thought before he closed the distance between them was _finally_.

Archie whimpered a little as Cook's lips brushed against his, and then his hands were sliding up around Cook's neck, and he was pressing close, opening his mouth under Cook's. They were kissing for real now, and all Cook was aware of was a haze of happiness and _want_ , until suddenly, Archie wrenched away, gasping.

His face was flushed, his lips wet and inviting, and his expression was stricken.

"Oh my gosh, I hate you," he said in a rush, and full-on sprinted out of the room before Cook could do anything more than sit, stunned, and shout, "Wait!"

Cook dropped his head back with a groan, cracking it sharply against the wall and cursed for more reasons than one.

***

“Archie. Archie.”

“I’m eating,” Archie said. He poked his fork at a peach slice, then set it down.

Ryan reached out and laid a hand over Archie’s. “Are you nervous about today?”

“I just want it to be over.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Ryan said

Archie was pretty sure there was no way it was going to be fine. He just nodded and hoped Ryan would leave it alone.

But Ryan didn’t move, and Archie finally looked up at him.

“Everything’s going to be _fine_ ,” Ryan said again, and Archie found a smile for him.

“I won’t let you down. Um, I’m not too hungry. I’m going to go get ready.”

He could feel Ryan’s worried look following him out of the room.

 

***

 

"Your speech," Nigel said, handing Cook a folder.

Cook took it, ripped it in half, and handed it back to Nigel without looking away from the king.

"Don't even start with me," he said when Uncle Simon opened his mouth to lecture. "This isn't about you and your reputation and your prince rules. This is about Genovia and me. If they want me to be their prince, they want _me_ , not some android with a speech that tested well with a focus group."

"It's extraordinary..." Uncle Simon started, and Cook braced himself. "...how much you remind me of your father."

"What?"

"He hated everything prepared and prearranged too. And Genovia loved him for it."

"I didn't know that," Cook said. He cleared his throat. "That's...I'm glad I got something from him."

"Oh, David." Simon put his hand on Cook's shoulder. "It's not just about my reputation, you know," he said just loud enough for Cook to hear.

The trumpets blared, and he stood up straight again, every inch Uncle King Simon. "Promptness before Parliament gives one an advantage," he said, and swept off.

Cook rubbed his hand over his eyes, settled his crown more firmly on his head, and followed.

 

***

 

"Here's the thing," Cook blurted out. It wasn't "fourscore and seven years ago," but that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

"I know you respect King Simon, but I can't be him. I know you loved Prince Roland, but I can't be him either. I'm always going to sound like an American, and my music is really important to me, and I can't ride a horse or remember all the nobility's names or shoot a bow—well, I can kind of shoot a bow," he said, looking down at Archie for the first time. He tried a little bit of a smile, but Archie just kept looking at him, wide-eyed, and Cook had to look away.

"I know Lord Archuleta can do all those things. You know him and you trust him, or you should, he's a really good person." He could see the Prime Minister with a baffled expression on his face. "And Arch—Lord Archuleta cares about Genovia and the people, I can tell. I understand why you think he would be a good king. _I_ think he would be a good king."

He took a deep breath. "But I care too. I've been reading books about banking reform. When we had the cold spell last week, I couldn't sleep until they said the peaches were all okay. And I can learn how to hold a chicken, I really can," he said, and sat down abruptly, because there was being yourself and there was being an idiot and he should really stop talking immediately.

There was a buzz of conversation in the crowd, and Cook kept his face neutral and looked just over Archie's head. Of course, that meant that when Archie stood up, their eyes met.

"Permission to speak, my lord?" he called, not looking away from Cook.

"Archie—" Prime Minister Seacrest started.

"Permission to speak, sir," Archie said.

"I—the floor recognizes Viscount Murray."

Archie stood up straight. "I renounce my right to the throne," he said clearly.

The crowd erupted. "What are you doing?" Cook tried to ask over all the noise, but if Archie heard him, he didn't answer. His hands were clenched into fists at his side.

"Order!" Seacrest was pounding his gavel, but it was barely audible. "Order!"

"Everyone sit the bloody hell down," Uncle Simon hardly raised his voice at all, but everyone shut up and sat down, except Archie, who stayed standing up. He was still only looking at Cook. "You were saying, Viscount Murray?"

"I renounce all rights to the throne of Genovia, permanently, and I encourage Parliament to confirm David Roland Cook Cowell as Crown Prince. It's—the right thing to do."

And then he left, and Cook couldn't follow him because they had to have the damn vote (and because Uncle Simon had a solid grip on his elbow and wouldn't let go). By the time all the procedures and everything were done, Archie could’ve been miles away.

He pushed his way through the crowd, smiling and nodding at anyone who tried to talk to him, and ducked around to block Prime Minister Seacrest's path when he tried to back away from him. "I need to talk to Archie."

Seacrest stared at him until Cook wanted to hide under a bench. "I suppose you do," he finally said. "He likes to go to the peach grove when he's upset."

"Thank you," Cook said.

"Hurt him and I'll make your life a living hell," Seacrest said.

"Um...okay," Cook said and backed away.

 

***

 

The sun was just starting to set when Cook arrived at the peach grove. It was a beautiful evening, calm and peaceful, and Cook breathed in the blooming peach blossoms as he scanned the area for Archie.

He spotted him before long, standing by the fountain with his back to Cook.

"Archie?" Cook called quietly, not wanting to startle him. Archie jumped anyway, but didn't react otherwise. He tensed as Cook approached, but didn't turn, just took one deep breath after another.

"Archie," Cook said again, barely above a whisper, and touched his back gently.

"I love it here," Archie said in response. "It's beautiful, and quiet, and it smells like peaches. It reminds me of what I love about Genovia."

"Why'd you do it?" Cook asked abruptly. "Why'd you renounce the throne?"

"Because you deserve it." He turned to face Cook, finally. His eyes were red, and his smile was wavering a little, but he sounded completely sincere when he said, "You're going to be a great king, Cook."

He turned to leave, but Cook had been half-expecting that, and he reached out to grab Archie's arm and draw him back, a little closer than before.

"Why do you always do that?"

Archie was avoiding his eyes again. "What?"

"Run away when I want to… talk to you."

"There's nothing to say," Archie said. "You did it, you got what you wanted. I stepped down. There's no reason for you to want me to stay now." He tried pulling out of Cook's grasp, but Cook tightened his grip, so he looked up, glaring even though it was evident that he was on the verge of tears.

"First of all, I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," Cook said. "And second of all, I want you to stay because I'm pretty sure I'm half in _love_ with you, okay?"

Archie jerked his head up to look at him. "What?"

"And I feel like maybe you feel the same way," Cook continued, "except for how you ran away again earlier today."

Archie was looking up at him with eyes that were so, so wide. Cook brought his hands down to clasp Archie's, giving them a squeeze.

"So I'd really like to try again," Cook whispered. "Can I kiss you?"

Archie's hand wrapped around Cook's suit jacket, and he nodded quickly, swaying just slightly on his feet.

"You're so stupid," Cook told him, and tilted Archie’s face up, and kissed him.

 

***

 

 _Epilogue_

"Okay...okay, Ryan. I'll think about it. Okay, bye!" Archie set the phone down and collapsed against Cook's chest.

Cook patted the top of Archie's head. "Is he trying to get you to run for Parliament again?"

"He just wants what's best for me," Archie said, his voice muffled.

"Speaking of which—" Cook said, and Archie groaned.

"Not both of you." Archie crawled out of bed.

Cook sat up and watched him walk towards the bathroom. That never got old, he thought happily before concentrating on his argument. "Come on. The guys _want_ you to sit in with them tonight! Andy's a great lead vocalist, don't get me wrong, but you would be mind-blowing."

"I'll think about it," Archie said.

Cook scowled at him. "I'm not Ryan."

"You don't just want what's best for me?"

"I hate you!" Cook yelled after him.

"Uh-huh," he heard before the shower drowned any other conversation out.

Cook leaned forward to pet the scruffy black puppy dozing next to the bed. The dog grumbled happily, then curled back up on his satin pillow. It had “Sir Dublin” embroidered on it. One black ear flopped over the lettering.

“I hate him,” Cook told Dublin solemnly.

Dublin snuffled in his sleep.

 

***

 

"You should sit in," Archie said as they were getting dressed. He was tying Cook's tie for him, which might actually be Cook's favorite part of the day.

"I promised I'd do a number," Cook said. He grinned. "It makes Uncle Simon so cranky."

"As long as it's not the rock version of the Genovian national anthem you did last time. If you want to take King Simon out and get the throne early, you should probably do it a little less publicly."

"Oh, I have a new one," Cook said.

Archie raised an eyebrow, but finished the knot in silence.

Cook took Archie's hands and held them. "Seriously, do you want to sing tonight? Because if not I'll stop Seacresting you."

"I do, just—"

"Then sing."

"Is that a royal command, Your Highness?"

Cook made a show of considering it until Archie laughed. "I guess not. But I wish you would."

"Well, if you put it like that..." Archie smiled at him over their joined hands, and Cook's heart _hurt_ , he was so happy.

Genovia had given him an uncle who really did love him under all the bluster, peach ice cream and popcorn and barbecue sauce, a second home for his band so he could still have his music, and a chicken for his table on a pretty regular basis. But mostly it had given him Lord David Archuleta, Viscount Murray, and he was never going to stop being grateful for that.

"Kiss me, my lord." He used his princeliest tone of voice. "And that is an order."

Archie laughed his way into the kiss. "You're lucky I love you," he said, leaning his forehead against Cook's.

"Yeah," Cook said. "I know."


End file.
